Indestructible
by Rock114
Summary: On the island Zoey, Francis, and Louis recount the way their group met up while Bill's sacrifice is still fresh in their minds.
1. Chapter 1

**4 Weeks after First Infection**

"I hate islands."

Louis chuckled to himself as Francis grunted his infamous catchphrase. The afternoon sun shone down on them and warmed the two with a late autumn heat as waves peacefully rolled up on the sand shores of their new home. Dipping his feet into the surf as it flowed toward him, Louis sighed with content and relief. Just yesterday they had finished unloading the supplies from the boat and had nothing to do but, for the first time in ages, relax. He took his sunglasses off and smirked at Francis as he stood beside him, still wearing his dirt encrusted leather jacket. The biker was, as usual, refusing to have any part in what normal people would consider "fun."

"I know you do," Louis chuckled again. "But this is our home now. A fresh start, safety, and plenty of supplies. We've got everything."

"Until it gets taken away from us," he complained. "It always does. Just you watch."

"Come on, man, give the cynicism a rest already. Things are finally looking up. Enjoy it."

"Things were looking up when the chopper saved us from the hospital, remember?" Francis grunted. "And when we found that couple with the boat in Riverside. And when we got on the plane at the airport-"

Louis sighed, standing up from the beach chair he had drawn close to the water. "I get it. We had some bad luck in the past."

"Yeah, 'Bad luck,'" Francis said, mimicking his upbeat tone. "Getting captured by the army and almost cut up like science experiments was just 'Bad luck.' Jesus, isn't there anything that makes you sad? You're like a permanent ray of sunshine."

"Well, I'm just trying to stay optimistic," Louis informed him with a small grin.

"I hate optimism."

Louis looked out over their new home. The island was around a mile long with a moderately sized hotel near the southern end where he, Francis, and Zoey had taken up living in. It was easy enough to barricade, surprisingly, and in the few days they had been here they had turned it into an imposing, if somewhat ramshackle, fortress. Various maintenance sheds across the island had been stocked with fishing equipment and emergency supplies, giving them everything they needed to make a go of it for the long haul. They even still had the boat.

It was good. It was safe. It was paradise, even. But there was something missing.

"Well," Louis, mumbled without his usual positivity, "I guess there _is_ something wrong with this place." He stood and looked out over the ocean waves.

Francis' look of smug triumph vanished after a few contemplative seconds and he grasped the meaning of what Louis was saying. "I think I know what you mean." Louis began fidgeting uncomfortably where he stood. He could feel the wound in his leg again as the sounds of the tropical island around him began to vanish from his senses. Paradise faded away until he could almost feel himself back on that bridge.

"Let's go find Zoey," he said, eager to return to the present.

"Yeah," Francis agreed, dropping his bluster and pessimism. "Think she'll be there again?"

"Probably. She took it even harder than we did." The weather hadn't changed but Louis could no longer feel the warmth of the sun's rays brushing his skin.

"I still sometimes can't believe it," Francis admitted as the two began to make their way to where Zoey would be. "Like, out of all of us, I never thought it'd be him."

Louis fell into step beside him. "Tell me about it. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Bill. I wouldn't have even made it out of Philadelphia."

"I still remember when I met him," Francis said. "It feels like, shit, years ago. Not a month. I was lucky that old man came along when he did, too…"

* * *

 **2 Days After First Infection**

The jukebox blared. " _ONE BAD MAN!"_

"Shit, Francis, this ain't good!"

Francis fired his shotgun again, bellowing a deep laugh as the blast cut down two more zombies. "What's the matter, Duke?" the biker cackled as he beat in the head of another zombie with a single downward strike with the stock of his weapon. "Stub your toe on this mountain of corpses we've been making?" He snatched a bottle from under the bar and took a long drink before shooting again.

"Nah, man. I just lost count of how many of these bastards I've taken down!"

Francis finished off the bottle and swung it at a charging zombie. It shattered across the creatures face and sent it hurtling toward the wooden floor. Francis stomped the back of its head as he yelled over the chaos toward his friend. "Don't worry, because it ain't as many as me!"

The infected were clawing their way into the building by way of a shattered window. The main doors had so far held the brunt of the horde out, to Francis' dismay.

"Oh, shit…" He heard Danny swear from behind. Francis turned to see him push a zombie away and shoot it through the head with his pistol, clutching his arm and stumbling backward a few steps.

"What's the matter, Danny boy? Get an 'Owie' from the big bad zombie?"

"It just… bit me, man… oh crap…"

"Forget it," Francis ordered with a hearty slap on the back. "These bites, man, they don't do shit. Just look at me."

"I…I don't…dunno…hey, is the room spinning for anyone else?"

"That's just the booze," Francis told him. "The party ain't over yet, we still got a street of deadheads that demand our attention! Duke, how's that door holding up?"

"Pretty good," his friend called, clubbing a zombie over the head with the butt of his pistol. "But we got a newcomer to the party. You'll wanna see him."

Francis pushed himself away from Danny as the smaller man gave a choked cough and looked toward the door. He didn't turn to see Danny give out and hit the floor with a quiet _thump._

He subdued the bout of laughter rising from within, silently guffawing under his breath. "You're…shitting me… oh Christ, that is just…" He doubled over as he broke into a full fit of laughter, aching sides and all. "Oh my _God_ … what kind of a joke is this?"

The horde beating in the door had given way. They still stood outside, framed from behind by flickering streetlights, but a new creature was standing in front of the doors now. It was a bloated corpse covered in boils and lesions. Fat beyond humanly possible it was cartoonishly overweight and helpless as it stood there staring into the building. It was so pathetic it wasn't even attempting to bring the doors down.

"Duke, my man, you can have the honors," Francis laughed. "Pop that tubby bastard."

"With pleasure." Duke fired.

The creature exploded in a tsunami of reeking green bile. The main doors flew off their hinges and splintered against the bar as the windows shook from the force as the substance splattered Francis' vest like a thunderstorm. He fell backward against the bar as the shower of gore painted the interior of the building.

"Shit…" Breathing was difficult as he pulled himself up by the bar counter with one hand while grasping fruitlessly for his shotgun with the other. He could feel the bruises already forming from where he impacted the bar and the pain bludgeoning him intensified with every second. "Duke…"

Duke made a lunge for Francis as the infected began to pour in. A few feet away and he stopped in his tracks, staring wide eyed at something beyond Francis. "Danny? Is that you?"

His answer was a snarl straight from a nightmare. Duke turned away and made a dash for the stairs, leaving Francis behind, as a figure leaped through the air with inhuman speed and accuracy. Duke made it to the first step before the monster tackled him to the ground. It was Danny. Francis saw him raise his new, razor-like claws through his hazy vision and, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before plunging them downward into Duke's chest. He was one of them.

Francis gasped for air as the infected swarmed him, completely ignoring Duke and Danny. They surrounded him and battered his torso with their fists in a combined assault outmatching any pain he'd felt before. One bit him in the shoulder at the same moment he felt a fist collide with his face, then again, and again until he couldn't feel anything anymore.

He slumped back down and their punches turned into kicks. He tasted blood as the edges of his vision began crawling with darkness. A burst of gunfire was the last thing his senses registered. "Mama…"

Everything went black.

* * *

"Oh… what happened?" The darkness retreated when he forced his eyes open, only to clench them shut again as a wave of pain wracked his body. With a grimace he opened them again. "I'm… never drinking… again…" A hangover. Yeah, that's what it was. It had to be.

"Hey, dude," came a soft voice, almost a whisper. "Are you okay?" Francis turned his head with a wince toward the speaker.

"Well… hello…" A young woman was seated next to him, her brunette hair brought up in a messy ponytail. Her piercing green eyes seemed to shine. Her clean red jacket was spotless, save for a small spatter of blood on one of her sleeves. "If I were dead, I wouldn't be seeing angels. I guess I'm alive?"

The woman rolled her eyes at the comment but chose not to comment on it. "Yeah, we pulled you out of there," she told him. "I'm Zoey."

"I'm Francis…" he coughed. "You are one hell of a sight."

"Whatever." She grabbed a bottle from the nightstand and twisted the cap open as Francis looked around. He wasn't in the bar anymore. He was laying on a couch in what looked like somebody's apartment. In contrast to the rest of the city it was neatly ordered without so much as a bloodstain to mar the well kept condition. The owners must have abandoned it. If zombies had come through the place would have had a little more character to it. Outside gunfire sounded in the distance, somewhere far away. "Take these."

Zoey dropped two pills in his hand and he swallowed them. "Those were painkillers, right?"

"No, they were for male enhancement. You really needed it."

"Wait, what?!"

"Of course they were pain pills. We remembered to read the label before we started handing pills out, you know, like normal people."

Relief sank in alongside annoyance. "Wait…" Francis commanded, realizing something. "You keep saying 'We.' Who else is here?"

"The man who saved your life. If it weren't for him you would have died back there."

"Him?"

"Yeah, him." Zoey repeated. "He should back in a second. He just went to check the entrances."

"So, no group of traveling supermodels with a thing for scruffy guys in leather?"

She rolled her eyes again. "I don't care how much brain trauma those zombies gave you, I _will_ punch you if you keeping saying stupid things."

"Alright, alright, calm down." Francis looked back up and his eyes caught movement in the doorway. "I think your friend is here."

Zoey turned and, with a smile, stood from where she was seated. "Hey, Bill. He's awake."

 _Wait… no…_ "You're name's… Bill?" Francis sputtered. "For real?" He pulled himself up as far as he could in the bed and defensively tensed up.

"That's right, Francis," came the gruff reply, though not without a small hint of mockery. "It's me."

"I take it back," Francis declared, sitting up on the couch. "I _am_ dead. This has to be Hell."

Zoey looked back to Francis, then back again to Bill. "Wait, am I missing something?"

"I met Francis here a couple times before all this started," Bill informed her, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "Ain't that right?"

"Yeah," Francis sighed. He looked at Zoey, despondent. "This old man gave me a ride into Philly a few years back. It was December. There was a blizzard."

Bill nodded and took out his lighter. "Yeah, and the same time next year I woke up in the middle of the night to see this moron trying to make off with my television set. Hell of a way to say 'Thanks.'"

"I told you," Francis deflected with a groan, "I didn't know it was _your_ place! Jesus, it's not like you had me arrested or nothin'!"

Bill shrugged it off, ignoring the man's excuses. "None of that matters now," he stated. "Can you walk?" He lit his cigarette and took a relaxing puff.

"Yeah." Francis pulled himself to his feet. The pain was dull and far away now thanks to the painkillers. "Good thing I'm indestructible, huh?"

"First off, can that attitude," the old man ordered, checking the magazine in his assault rifle. "Cockiness'll get ya killed. Zoey, take point. The gun store should be just a block or two to the south."

She nodded and stepped out the door. Bill handed Francis his shotgun. "Here ya go."

Before Francis could mutter an insincere thanks, Bill grabbed him by the vest and pulled him in close. His voice transformed to a gravelly hiss as he drew Francis close, protective and filled with venom. "And second. If you lay a hand on that girl, if you try _anything_ with her, then you'll wish I'd left you back in that bar to die with your friends." The veteran let go with a small push and followed Zoey.

Francis, for the first time in his life, felt himself shrink back as he watched the old man limp out the door into the apocalyptic streets behind Zoey. With no witty rejoinder or shield of bravado to be found he quietly slunk along, falling in behind Bill with little more than a discontent grumble.

* * *

 _AN: I based Francis' backstory on an old headcanon I've had since the early days of Left 4 Dead 1. The way he and Bill constantly insulted each other just gave me a feeling that they knew each other prior to the events of the apocalypse, though not very well. It seemed like it would be one or two stand out encounters (Getting a ride and stealing a TV) and a few more less notable ones, like passing each other on the street or some such. Part of it was also based on an unfinished fic laying around where I planned on seeing how the survivors would react to each other before the apocalypse, and pulled the "Hitched a ride with Bill" thing straight out of that._


	2. Chapter 2

"You knew Bill before the outbreak?"

"Sure did," Francis answered with a small amount of pride. "The bar I always went to was in the same neighborhood he lived in. Once in a while he'd even stop in for a drink, usually when it was a holiday or something. Always complained about the music, though. He never did have good taste. Sat by himself a lot."

"No offesne, Francis," but why would Bill go to your bar?"

"Cheap beer," Francis said flatly. "Plus I owed him one. You know, for that ride he gave me."

"So in gratitude you tried to steal his TV…"

Francis, defensive, stopped in his tracks. "I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know it was his home. That old man was about the only person I would have thought twice about pissing off back then."

"You were afraid of him?" Louis asked mockingly.

"No," Francis denied unconvincingly. "But he was, like… you know. He was Bill."

"Yeah, I know," Louis said. "He certainly made an impression. I think that you guys arriving at that gun store was probably the luckiest thing that ever happened to me…"

* * *

Louis wiped flecks of invisible sweat from his brow as he gazed at his construction. The low light of his surroundings, a shoddy old storage room that had long been abandoned to disrepair, made marveling his invention somewhat of a difficulty but he knew how it looked by heart. He'd spent hours on it. It was his lifeline. The only thing he had.

He finished off the last of the candy bars he'd taken from the broken vending machine at his workplace as a reward for finally completing the weapon, cobbled together from spare parts laying around the storage room. "This…" he whispered, exhaustion seeping from his voice, "Is gonna work." He stood, bracing himself against one of the rotting crates and lifted the explosive. His legs trembled from both tiredness and fear, his thoughts racing about what horrors he would see upon opening the door, but he forced his instincts away and did his best to stand tall, patting the pocket he kept a book of matches in. "It ain't pretty, but it's gonna work."

A short length of pipe, filled with gunpowder from old buullets and shells, combined with pieces from a smoke detector powered by a single battery, with the wick made from one of his shoelaces, he gripped the pipebomb tightly. A gun would have been preferable but there hadn't been time to grab one. At least then he knew that it would work. A group of infected had followed him from his office to the gun store, and as they battered down the doors he had fled into the back rooms and locked himself in this one just as they flooded the building. No time for a conventional weapon. He was down to his wits.

"At least they don't know where I am," he said to himself, weak from sleep deprivation. How long had he been in here? Hours? Days? How long had he waited before beginning to work on the pipebomb?

"Toss it… run while they're distracted…" he repeated, willing himself toward the shadowed doorway. "Maybe grab a gun on the way out. Yeah, easy. No problem. I got this."

He put his hand on the doorknob and prepared to turn.

A crescendo of gunfire erupted somewhere nearby. Louis jumped up as his heart threatened to leap out of his chest at the sudden explosion of noise. Just above the sounds of battle he heard a voice.

"Francis, left side, Zoey's on right! I'll cover the door!" It was weathered and rough but also authoritative and stern. Unwavering.

The another. Younger, a man. His voice oozed confidence. "Shit, that one, shoot the one in the hoodie!"

"Got it!" A young woman's voice. A flurry of shots rang out above the rest, followed by an echoing, inhuman scream. "Holy shit, it jumped away! Did you see that?"

"Shit, where are they all coming from?" The younger man, again.

"We got a big group heading this way," the first voice said wearily. "Damnit. Francis, head to the back and look for some place we can barricade, maybe make a stand. This is gonna be bad."

Louis took another breath. It was now or never. He twisted the knob and shoved the door open with more strength than his hunger stricken body should have been able to muster.

"What the-? Who the hell are you?" Louis turned to face the man, a behemoth of a biker with his arms sleeved in tattoos, clad in a black leather vest. The biker raised his shotgun. "Uh, Bill?" he called over his shoulder. "I think we got a problem."

"Cut the horseshit, Francis!" came the reply. "That horde is almost here! Find us a place we can hold out!"

Louis dashed toward the front of the store to Francis' surprise. Unprepared for the skinny, small, and starving man to make such a bold move Francis jumped backward and lost his balance as Louis raced past on his way to the main entrance. "I'm sorry!" he called behind him. The biker swore, scrambling for his shotgun.

He emerged from the dreary depths of the store onto a battlefield. Overturned shelves were everywhere, the various types of ammunition they held scattered over a floor that was covered by more and more blood with each gunshot. In the door way the biker's companions were firing into a group of dozens that barreling toward them. Each shot was precise and carefully selected. They were making their bullets count. That meant they had to be low on ammunition.

He dug a match out of his pocket, struck it, then lit the fuse on the pipebomb. He lifted it above his head and howled for the two people in the doorway to get down. Then he hit a button on the side of it.

The smoke alarm rigged to it began beeping its high pitched warning as the small light began blinking red. Louis heaved it toward and out the doors with a mighty "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" before the three of them dove to the ground and covered their heads.

The infected turned. The maddening pitch and the stupefying light ripped their focus away from the survivors. They gathered around the explosive as it the fuse burned down, punching and kicking at it as more and more of the horde pushed their way toward it through the crowd already there as the mob tried to make it stop.

A resounding, forceful explosion sliced outward from the device and the horde vanished in a bright, fiery light. Blood and body parts flew across the street as the shredded remains of the mob were scattered to the winds. The small cracked crater formed by the explosion was streaked with blood and bone. The overwhelming noise of battle was gone. The street was plunged into an eerie silence while the smoke cleared.

Louis was the first to raise his head. "I think it's over."

The old man was next. He readied his assault rifle from his prone position as he scanned the street with a hawkish vigilance. Nothing moved. All was quiet. "I'd say so," he tentatively agreed as he rose from the floor. He extended his hand to the young woman and helped her to her feet but kept his eyes on Louis. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Louis. A bunch of these things-"

"Zombies," the woman told him.

"Yeah, zombies," he reluctantly agreed. "Anyway, a bunch of them chased me in here earlier. I hid out in the back."

The old man extended a hand. Louis took it and the man gave a firm shake. "I'm Bill," he said curtly. "This is Zoey."

She gave him a small wave. "S'up, dude."

"And, since you came runnin' out the back like a madman, I reckon you already met Francis."

"Yeah, no, he didn't meet me," the biker answered. He emerged from the hallway with a hand clamped over the back of his head. "He attacked me."

"Louis here also saved our lives," Bill informed him.

Francis looked around in confusion noticing the absence of the horde for the first time. "Wait. He killed all the zombies?"

"Yep," Bill nodded, pointing a thumb out toward where the pipebomb exploded. Francis looked at it and the remains of the horde in disbelief.

"Yeah, I guess he did alright," the man relented.

"Don't listen to Francis," Zoey said. "He's allergic to good feelings."

"I'm not allergic, I-"

"Yeah, we know, you hate them."

Bill tore himself away from his admiration of the destruction outside. "What the hell kind of contraption was that, anyway?"

"A pipebomb," Louis said, stepping forward. "I made it myself from a bunch of stuff I found back there while hiding out. I was gonna throw it and run but you guys showed up just in time."

"Huh," Bill grunted thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Can you make more of'em?"

"Well, if I say yes, can I stick with you guys? You look like you know what you're doing."

"You saved our lives, son," Bill stated plainly. "We'd be full of horseshit not to take you with us, pipebombs or no pipebombs. But those things look like they could save us a helluva lot of trouble."

Louis thought for a few seconds. "I think so, yeah."

"Good to hear," Bill said with thanks. "Welcome aboard."

Francis got between them. "Whoa whoa whoa, let's just slow down here," he commanded as he turned to Bill who was lighting a cigarette. "You ain't thinkin' of taking this guy with us, are you? He's dead weight. Look at him, he's, like… a TV salesman or somethin'."

"I work in IT," Louis retorted indignantly. "And I know how to use a gun, too."

"What, are you crazy or something? Francis asked. "Why would you need to use a gun? You probably live in a cubicle."

"I spend my lunch hours on the rifle range," Louis responded. "I can handle a weapon."

"Bill, I dunno," Francis pushed. "You really think he'll be able to keep up?"

Bill took a deep drag and puffed a cloud of smoke in Francis' face. "Well son, you're an idiot and you haven't had any problems so far," the veteran said, watching Francis cough and wave the smoke out of his face. "He's with us. Don't like it? Leave. I won't stop ya."

Bill took another drag as he began giving orders. "Everyone, take something you like _and know how to use_ , and stock up on ammo. Since this place has a rifle range there's probably some medical supplies laying around somewhere, so we'll search for'em and take those too. We're gonna need everything we can get our hands on if we wanna get out of the city in one piece. Zoey, keep an eye on the doors and holler if somethin' happens." They set about carrying out his orders. Even Francis, who kept his discontent limited to low grumbling and the occasional sneer at Louis or Bill, started going through the debris in search of usable ammo.

"You know," Louis stated, "I've got a good feeling about you guys. I think this is gonna work out."

"For the first time tonight, yeah, I do too," Zoey admitted.

Francis growled, unconvinced but unwilling to step out of line again so soon. "Well, we're not dead yet, so I guess that's somethin'."

"Good feelin's ain't gonna get us outta this mess, son," Bill remarked. "But together, watchin' each others backs, we might actually have a shot at this."

Loaded up with guns, ammunition, and more, Louis clutched his new submachine gun tightly to his chest as the four of them left the store and marched back into the end of the world.

The apocalypse didn't stand a chance.


	3. Chapter 3

"I didn't even know if my pipebomb plan was gonna work," Louis admitted, looking out over the sun as it began to sink below the horizon. "I won't lie, I was scared shitless before you guys showed up." The two were drawing closer to where Zoey had to be.

Francis brushed some mock dirt off the shoulder of his vest as he reveled at the compliment. "Well, yeah, saving the day is what I do best. You're welcome."

"You wanted to leave me behind."

Francis scoffed at the accusation. "Details."

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Louis said. "Like, seriously. No bullshit."

"Was that the question?" Francis joked.

"Francis…"

"Fine, yeah, go ahead."

Louis, unsure of himself, hesitated before he stammered the question. "I know you said you never were, but… were you ever afraid? Back on the mainland."

Francis stopped in his tracks. Clearing his throat and shifting in his spot, he looked away from Louis with a meek denial. "'Course not."

"Really? Come on, I said no bullshit."

Francis sighed. "Okay. Once. Maybe."

"When?"

He stuck his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with discomfort. "C'mon, Louie, do we really have to do this?"

"No. But I'd like to."

"Fine," he surrendered, rolling his eyes and beginning to lead Louis to Zoey again. "The bridge."

"Yeah, that was the biggest horde I'd ever seen. I-"

"Not the horde," Francis interrupted. "Not… not even the goddamn Tanks. It was Bill."

"What?" Astonished, Louis cocked his head toward his friend inquisitively. "What does that even mean, man?"

"It means… well... Damnit, I dunno." His pace slowed and his voice, when he spoke, was tinged with shame. "I actually bought into all of my bullshit, you know? I thought I really was indestructible. I really _wasn't_ afraid of anything. Nothing was gonna happen to me, or anyone else. Because we were just so damn tough." He cleared his throat. "Then Bill went to the generator."

"And he didn't come back," Louis said, finishing the thought.

"Yeah." He slid his hands into his pockets as Louis caught a rare glint of guilt in the large man's eyes. "There she is." Louis turned.

She was right where they knew she would be. A quiet spot in the shade of a palm tree, near the front of the resort building. It was a cool, contemplative, and peaceful spot. One that wasn't too hot or too cool, that was never disturbed. A nice place to be. The best on the island. It was why they chose it.

Zoey's knees were pulled to her chest as she sat in the shade staring at the neat wooden cross in front of her. Still as a statue she kept a vigilant watch over the grave. The cross, constructed by Francis, was surprisingly well-crafted. Precisely cut and assembled and assembled with respect it marked the resting place of the missing member of their group. A few words had been skillfully carved into the center.

 _Bill Overbeck_

 _Nov. 3, 1948 – Oct. 2009_

"Hey guys," she whispered without turning to them.

"Hey Zoey," Louis whispered back. "Come on, we should go inside. The sun's setting."

"Just another minute."

"Zoey, we-"

"Please, Louis."

Louis took a step back to bring himself alongside Francis once again. The two men looked away to let Zoey have a final minute of privacy before they went inside.

Zoey rose and drew herself closer to the cross, letting her fingers brush up against the inscription. She sniffled. "You promised…"

* * *

 _I love you, Zoey._

 _I love you, Dad._

 _BLAM!_

She had lost count of how many times the memories had played back through her mind. They were fresh enough to dig the wounds deeper and deeper each time they forced themselves to the front of her mind, making her relive that moment in time over and over again. Her father's final words, the skull splitting gunshot, and the aching silence that always followed before she began to see it again from the beginning.

It was on a loop in her brain. Each time she saw it again it went just a little slower. It drew out her parents deaths, stretching the memory until the minute her world had changed forever felt more and more like hours. It was inescapable. The world outside the apartment was dying but her own private one had already met its end.

The door creaked open. The sounds of the apocalypse slithered in. Fire. Gunshots. Screaming. Shrieks and growls from the monsters roaming the streets.

And footsteps. Drawing closer.

She couldn't feel any of it. Their effects paled in comparison to what she had been through mere hours ago.

A wizened old voice sounded from the door in horror. "Holy Mother of God." The footsteps resumed. "Jesus H. Christ, this was a massacre." Then the intruder appeared.

The low light of the apartment made it difficult to see but just enough remained from the fires burning in the city to let Zoey get a glimpse of him when he entered the room with a noticeable limp. He was an old man, bearded, with a green beret sitting atop his head of white hair. Draped in an old military jacket he held an assault rifle at the ready while he scanned the room with his bright blue eyes.

She waited in the darkness for him to pass her by, unable to make a sound. The loop in her head was still running. She could still hear her that final gunshot, the finality of if it sinking in deeper and deeper with each replay.

The stranger's eyes wandered over her. They widened in surprise for a brief second before closing to a squint and turning to steel. "Is anyone there?" he whispered. He took a hand off of his rifle and steadily reached out with it. "Hello? You ain't one of them, are ya?"

She felt his wrinkled had brush her arm. She leaped back in shock, reflexively snatching her father's gun from the floor as she threw her back up against the wall and pointing the pistol at the man. He did the same with a look of surprise and fear on his face, his M16 swiveling around until it was pointed at her chest. His reaction time was much better than she thought a man of his age could be capable of. Droplets of sweat marched down his forehead but otherwise he kept himself calm. The strength never left his eyes and he stood so still and focused that, for a second, she thought he was inanimate.

They stood there with weapons pointed at each other for minutes on end. Or was it hours? Seconds? the tension wafting through the air made it impossible to tell. The man was the first to lower his weapon. "Christ, you scared the horseshit outta me." Zoey kept the gun trained on him. "Sorry for the scare, kid," he apologized. "I didn't know anyone was here."

When Zoey gave no reply the old man took a small step toward her. "You alright?" The gun trembled with her hand. Her normally superb shooting skills had abandoned her, just like her parents had. She couldn't keep the weapon steady as the old man took another step. She bit her lower lip as he kept speaking.

"Listen," he said, less of a command and more of a gentle request. "It ain't safe here." His gaze went to the bodies of her parents and lingered there. "Were they… your parents?"

She gave him a tiny nod.

"And you… made sure they didn't turn. Right?"

She couldn't nod this time. Her muscles froze up. He looked back at the bodies her mother and father with his face etched in worry. She didn't have to tell him "Yes." He'd put the pieces together. "We should leave," he told her calmly. "Come on. You don't wanna stay here, do ya?"

 _I love you, Zoey._

 _I love you, Dad._

She let the gun fall to her side and collapsed against the wall as the shot rang through her head again. A single tear went down her face as she felt the old man hesitantly grasp her hand and lead her away from the ruins of the apartment.

* * *

 **20 Minutes Later**

 _BLAM!_

The room burst into light.

"At least there's power," the old man commented wryly. "This'll be a good place to rest for a few minutes."

Zoey pulled her arm away from him and fell against the wall near the doorway. The apartment they had just sheltered in was about two blocks south of the one her dad had rented. She pulled her knees up to her chest as she put her back against the wall and buried her face. The gunshot still echoed in her mind.

The old soldier pulled up a chair and sat down, letting loose a weary breath and sitting his rifle up against the wall. He looked ready to collapse. "So, uh… you got a name?"

Zoey pretended not to hear him.

"Well I'll, uh… be here. In case, well, one of them bastards tries to get in." he informed her in a halting, stiff tone. The way he spoke was strange. Despite the veneer of confidence and professionalism in his stance when he held his gun he was always struggling to speak. His speech was graceless and direct as if he had little or no experience with casual conversation or meeting other people.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as her memories began to loop again.

It was too much. She couldn't bear it anymore. She _wouldn't_.

"So I'm… uh, sorry," her companion floundered, seeking the right words. "About what happened to your parents. It must have been bad." He winced at his own statement.

Her father's gun hung in the pocket of her jacket like a brick. Her attention was fixed on the cold pistol as it rested there, waiting.

The old man sighed again, noticeably enough to get Zoey to look up. "I ain't good with words, I know," he said apologetically. "But, just stay with me for a second, yeah?" She watched him dip his hand into one of the pockets on his jacket and withdraw something small. She saw his stoic face turn into something more human as he gazed at it, examining it with an ancient guilt in what Zoey realized had to be a rare, unguarded moment for the man.

He held the hand toward her. "You know what this is?" he asked. It was a star made of metal, hanging from a narrow ribbon decorated with red, white, and blue vertical stripes. The color had faded from the ribbon years ago and the star that hung from it was marred by dozens of tiny scratches showing its age. Zoey shook her head. He continued in a solemn voice. "This is the Silver Star. It's, well, a medal. They give it to you in the Army for showing strength, bravery, that kind of horseshit." He stopped, composing himself before going on. "I've had this for… so long. And every time I look at it I… have to turn away." He was sweating. Zoey could see it drip down his face while he shifted unconsciously in the chair, as if the medal in his hand was causing him physical displeasure.

"It's just a reminder of something I'd give anything to forget. And it ain't supposed to be that. It's supposed to be something more. For someone who's shown _actual_ strength. Actual bravery." He reached forward and took her hand, placing the medal in it. He closed her fingers around it and let go. "You probably feel the same way about today. But what I went through to get that ain't nothin' against what happened to you. And what you did. If it had happened to me, and I'd had to do what you did, I couldn't've kept goin'. I know that for a fact. I don't deserve this. You do."

Zoey felt her eyes well up. She fought back the tide of sorrow trying to push its way into the open.

"Hell, I just met ya, and I can already tell. It takes a lotta courage to do somethin' like that for the people you love. You're strong, kid. Stronger than me."

"You…" Zoey whimpered her first words to the man. He sounded so familiar. Painfully familiar. Then the tide erupted.

She flung herself at the old man and buried her head in his jacket as she finally cried, letting the torrent of pain out at last in an uncontrollable wave of emotion that couldn't be escaped. She wept and wept until his jacket was stained and kept crying. She felt his arms wrap themselves around her as she let it all out.

"I ain't gonna lie and say everything'll be okay," the old man said. "But you're gonna make it through this."

Her tears refused to stop. "They're gone…"

He held her tighter. "But I'm here. And I promise you that I ain't goin' nowhere."

"I don't even know you," she sobbed.

"I'm Bill," he told her warmly, keeping his voice steady. "And they may be gone, but you ain't. You're alive. And if there's anything in the world they would have wanted it's that." Zoey clung to his jacket refusing to let go of the only lifeline she had. "The best thing you can do is stay alive. For them."

Still gripping his uniform she looked up and nodded with a few errant tears continuing to stream down her cheeks. "I'm Zoey."

Bill stood and hauled Zoey to her feet. "I'm gonna make sure you do." Zoey slipped the medal into her jacket with cautious respect and looked up in time to see Bill retrieve his rifle from tis resting place. "I hate to ask, Zoey, but are ya good to move?"

She nodded with a firm determination. "Yeah. Let's go." She drew in a deep breath and felt that awful moment rear its visage again in her head. She was ready for it.

 _I love you, Zoey._

 _I love you, Dad._

 _…_

No gunshot.

She still hurt. That pain would always be with her but it wasn't alone anymore. It was giving way to a purpose. A reason to keep going. For them.

Bill opened the front door of the apartment and examined the street. It was empty. "OK, so I've been thinkin'," he said, "And I got a plan. There's a gun store a few blocks south of here and if we're lucky it should have some supplies we can use to protect ourselves from these bastards. And a place we can stop on the way."

"What place?" she asked, drawing her father's pistol and readying it.

"A bad place," Bill glowered. "When we get there, stay close to me, alright? The people there ain't nice, but we might find somethin' that can help. You ready?"

"Let's do it," she said, feeling her energy return.

Bill turned to her and gave his own smile. It was filled with relief and warmth. She hugged him again and he returned it tenderly. "Thank you, Bill."

She released him after a minute or so and he pushed the door open. They stepped out of the apartment revitalized, plunging headlong into the fray.

* * *

 **Present Day, The Island**

Zoey took her hand off of the cross. "You promised me. But you're gone now, too. Just like my parents." She reached into her jacket and pulled out the medal.

Francis and Louis had stepped closer to her but she didn't mind. "You gave me this when I needed it most," she whispered to the grave. "You saved me. If you hadn't found me I never would have left that apartment. I was ready to give up. But you snapped me out of it. You pulled me out of the darkness when I was so deep in it I couldn't see anything else. I just wish I could have let you know how much you meant to me before you left." She gently placed the medal on the spot where they had buried him, letting it rest with its owner once again.

She continued, keeping her voice low and hushed. "You didn't just save me. You saved us all. None of us would be here if we'd never met you. You gave each of us a second chance."

Zoey felt a hand rest on her shoulder. "He did this for us," Louis said. Zoey stood and let Louis' hand fall away. He walked up and placed it respectfully on the cross. "We won't forget it."

Francis took a step forward too. He couldn't bring himself to look at the grave as he said his final goodbye. "Old man… you were indestructible."

Zoey began to speak again, her voice as soft as the wind while the sun set behind them, shining orange rays over their trio and their new home. "I wish that you could be here with us, Bill. You would have liked it. It's peaceful. But I know that more than anything you would just be glad we're here." She let her hand rest on the medal one last time. "You told me I was strong when I was at my weakest, so I'll be strong again. For you."

"We all will," Louis said. Francis nodded confidently in agreement.

Zoey stood up and wiped a single tear away from her eye. "I love you, Bill. Goodbye."

After a few respectful moments of silence the three stood side by side and made their way inside, together.


End file.
